


you're the fire, i'm the flood

by sunriseandsunshine



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Nerd Harry Styles, Popular Louis Tomlinson
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 21:42:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28837992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunriseandsunshine/pseuds/sunriseandsunshine
Summary: Harry's not popular and he's more than fine with that. He doesn't enjoy the attention, it makes him squirm and it causes his voice to shake like a leaf. But Louis, he was born for it. He's bright and bold like the sun, he flits around the room like he owns it and Harry is simply captivated. It's not until they're seated together in English class that Louis finds himself equally as captivated by Harry, even if he won't learn about it until much later.Or, Louis is popular and Harry isn't. They fall in love despite neither of them believing the other could ever feel the same.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 3
Kudos: 11





	you're the fire, i'm the flood

**Author's Note:**

> hi! thank you so much for choosing to read my fic, it's more than appreciated. a couple of notes about this fic: 
> 
> -updates might be slightly erratic seeing as i'm still in school and most of my free time is devoted to stan twitter but I'll try to keep them coming so the fic is finished and out and posted by march at the latest. 
> 
> -the title is from fire and the flood by vance joy (sort of) i changed the "the" to "i'm" to better fit the title but that song was still a big part of the writing process for this fic even if it doesn't necessarily fit the theme. it's just the *vibe* of it haha. 
> 
> -last note! if you would like updates on when a new chapter is coming feel free to subscribe to the fic so you get notified when a new chapter is posted or follow my twitter where i will be posting each time i put out another chapter (i'll also keep you up to date with how far along the fic currently is) my handle is @nobodynovibezz , go give it a follow and turn notifications on if you would like. 
> 
> okay i think that's about it. i'm sorry for any spelling mistakes i don't have a beta reader for this fic like i did with my other one (All My Songs Are For You, go check it out) so just ignore them haha.

The first day of school had always been something Harry loved. There’s a bounce to his step. Nothing too big, not enough to draw any unnecessary attention to himself, but it’s there. His binder, brand new and filled with fresh loose leaf and dividers, is clutched to his chest as he walks. 

As he walks down the hall, he passes people clad in brand new clothes and slight smiles painted on their faces. Those smiles won’t be seen again until the day before winter break, the stress of school wearing them down each and every day of school that goes by.

Not everyone finds school as enjoyable as Harry does, he is well aware of that, but those blank expressions that grow into frowns only serve to depress him. It’s hard when the place that you love to be at almost as much as your bed seems to make other people miserable. 

The first day is one of the few days a year where the smiles come naturally, so Harry savors it.

Upstairs is a loop of classroom doors, with one shorter hallway that juts out. His first class, math, is tucked into that hall. Harry takes the deserted stairwell that brings you straight to that wing and walks a bit slower. As much as he enjoys school, he doesn’t enjoy the people at it quite as much. The small breaks he gets through the day where he  _ doesn’t  _ have to see people is more than necessary to keep him sane. 

Harry checks his schedule once again for the room number and peaks in shyly, taking a glance up to the big whiteboard at the front to make sure their teacher wasn’t the type to have a seating chart and appreciates when the board only has the syllabus on it. 

He takes a seat in the front row, where he normally prefers to sit, and opens his bag. Harry took out his notebook, a pencil, and his journal. He grabbed ahold of the latter. 

The cover of his journal is ripped at the edges and made of cloth. His little pen doodles and quotes covering the front, the back, and the spine. His finger runs along one doodle that’s special to him. It’s nothing unique and it wasn’t hard to draw, it’s a simple star that had been filled in messily, but he plans on getting it tattooed someday. He traces that outline one more time, eyes following with a wistful glint as he glances to the inside of his arm. Far too much of his time is spent thinking about how it will look inked onto his skin. 

He’s shaken from his thoughts when another person slides into the seat next to him. It’s a girl, one he doesn’t recognize but her smile is sweet as she takes out her materials for the class. Not the worst desk partner he’s had. 

A soft lull of chatter fills the room as people settle into the classroom. His teacher is still at her desk, typing away at her phone as she waits for everyone to arrive. The last person comes into the room a second before the bell rings just as the teacher gets up from her desk and moves to the front of the room to introduce herself. 

“Hi everyone, I’m Mrs. Kane. I’ll be your teacher this year for geometry. As some of you have seen I have the syllabus up on the board so feel free to get out those materials if you have them and if you don’t, make a note to get them please,” she says, pulling out her clipboard, “and while you’re doing that, it’s time for attendance and some seat changes.” 

Harry resists a groan. He hates roll call, all it does is cause him an unnecessary amount of anxiety. But he sits patiently, tapping his freshly sharpened pencil against the edge of his desk as his leg bounces. Mrs. Kane goes through the list of names and Harry raises his hand when she calls out Styles. She calls out Swift next and the girl next to him raises her hand as he had, but accompanies it with an almost sickeningly sweet “here” and Harry tries to have no reaction to it. Harry finds himself letting out a breath when Mrs. Kane doesn’t switch him or Taylor to another desk pair. 

His focus on his teacher falters, as he prefers to doodle into his notebook and scribble out rough lyrics and ideas for songs. After Mrs. Kane finishes reading over the syllabus, Swift (her first name is still a mystery to him), decides that spending the ten minutes they have to themselves talking with Harry is a good idea. “Hi, I’m Taylor.” 

Strike that, Taylor starts up a conversation to fill up the ten minutes of free time they have. 

“Harry,” he answers, his voice goes soft and shakes the way it does whenever he speaks to people he doesn’t know. 

The girl, Taylor, tries her best to help Harry feel more comfortable talking to her. She does most of the heavy lifting in the conversation, despite his non-answers to all of her questions. Her thoughts manifest into her biting at her lip lightly, almost like she’s nervous. “I’m new this year, I was wondering if you could tell me where my next class is? Sorry to bother you—” Harry shakes his head, stopping her from rambling. 

“Let me see your, um, your schedule?” he squeaks out. 

She pulls out a piece of paper similar to the one Harry has taped to the inside cover of his binder but with her own unique schedule. He glances over it until he finds the room number of her next class. “Oh English with Brooks, that’s in the same wing as my next class if you wanted me to walk with you?” 

Internally, he hopes she doesn’t think this is a come-on because he’s not into her at all, he’s just overly helpful and nice but also super gay. 

Taylor’s lips, painted with a bubblegum pink color, curl up into a smile, “That would actually be great. Thanks, Harry.” 

Comfortable silence washes over him, the only sound is their classmates talking amongst themselves until the sharp ring of the bell indicates the class is over. Harry stands, tossing his notebook into his bag and once again clutching his binder to his chest. Taylor watches him as he does and follows his lead as he heads out of the room. 

Their school hallways are covered with a few posters. They’re bright and fun, advertising various clubs and school-sponsored activities. It’ll be a few weeks before the student council campaign posters go up. The slogans will be cringe-inducing and he’ll sigh at them, knowing that the most popular person that’s running will win anyway so all of that campaigning doesn’t mean much. There is a bright side though, he gets a good laugh out of the bad rhymes people come up with and normally enjoys the colors they use for the posters. 

For now though, it’s bare-bones. Most of the color comes from senior blocks, bricks that students pay for and get to decorate however they would like. It’s how they leave their mark on the school. It shows new students that “hey! I was here!” and usually includes an outdated pop culture reference. He enjoys looking at them, making up small stories in his head about each other the people who painted them. It gets his creative brain working. 

Harry’s favorite is a brick near the end of the science wing. The base color is a light pink and there’s a simple black outline of a star. All around the star is names. He doesn’t know any of the people but he’s used their names in plenty of his stories. He loves the simplicity of the brick. It’s not a bright color that stands out much or an intricate drawing, it’s just pink with a star and some names. He stares at it as they pass the way he normally does. 

He gets bumped in the shoulder by someone passing him and his focus is drawn back to the present, his eyes refocusing in front of him as people pass by him and Taylor. 

She sticks close to his side, as though she’s afraid of getting lost. It’s understandable. Their school isn’t massive, but it’s decently sized and daunting to new students. He was in her shoes once. Their shoulders brush occasionally and he prays she doesn’t think it’s on purpose. As that thought rattles around in his head, bouncing from wall to wall just as the students passing them in the hallway do, he navigates his way through the familiar halls. 

It’s been three years of this now and although freshman year had started out rocky, sophomore year had been when he had really found himself. Well, sort of. He had discovered his love for writing songs and that— that gave him a purpose in this world. 

Ms. Brooks was one of his favorite teachers. Ever. She connected to students in a way that many teachers had never been able to. 

She saw him. 

He would often eat with her at lunch, the dread of not knowing where to sit had always made him lose his appetite. She had offered her room to him and despite his initial reservation, he had accepted. He hasn’t stopped eating in her room since. 

She’s outside her class door now, soft brown hair out of its normal knot at the back of her head and a yellow cardigan helping her to stand out in the sea of people. His face lights up when he sees her and hers does the same. “Harry! It’s been far too long. We still on for lunch today to catch up?” 

“Of course, Ms. B,” he answers, Taylor’s presence on his side reminding him why he came to her class in the first place. “Oh! Yeah, sorry, Taylor, this is it.” 

Taylor slides in past him, “Thanks for walking me Harry, I’ll see you around.” 

“Y-yeah,” he sees, hand rubbing the back of his neck, “see you.” 

As soon as she’s out of earshot, Ms. Brooks gives him a look. “Harold.” 

“Not my name.” 

“And I don’t care. Please tell me you aren’t leading that poor girl on.” 

He had came out to Ms. Brooks a month into freshman year. 

Harry rolls his eyes. “ _ No,”  _ he sasses, “She asked me to show her where her next class was because she’s new. I was just being nice!” 

Her lips purse into a thin line as she observes him, he almost flinches under the weight of her gaze. “We’ll discuss this later, young man.”

Harry doesn’t let it get to him, knowing the banter is lighthearted. He can see the way she’s trying her hardest not to smile and knows there’s no way she’d be genuinely angry with him. “See you later, Ms. B,” he calls, walking towards his English class. 

English class has always been his strength. He loves to write. Putting words onto a page and watching as they take on a life of their own had always been fascinating to him. The way you could write a story or a song with a specific meaning in mind and have someone else finish the story with a different interpretation had always been one of those things about art that made him love to create it. 

Aside from writing, he loved to read. It helped him when he was at his lowest points to escape to a different world than his own. He would picture himself in the protagonist’s shoes, experiencing what they experienced and learning from their mistakes instead of having to make those mistakes himself. He enjoyed analyzing stories and songs. Understanding the motivations behind a character’s actions or piecing together what a songwriter is trying to say in a complicated lyric had been something he enjoyed spending his free time doing. There’s nothing more rewarding than listening to a song once you’ve developed a deeper appreciate for a specific lyric in it. Absolutely nothing compares to that feeling for Harry. 

He loves writing and analyzing other people’s writing, both of which are an English class staple. That’s why walking into the room and seeing the seating chart up on the board made his stomach sink. He gripped his binder closer to himself like a security blanket and found his name on the board. He was in the middle row and once he had taken his seat he glanced back up to see who his seat partner was meant to be for this class. And  _ oh.  _

“Oi! Big T, what’s up?” his seat parter called out to their teacher. 

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes into the back of his head. 

His teacher, Mr. Trayger, was not amused by the entrance. His face was static with no positive or negative expression to be found on his face. “Mr. Tomlinson, I advise you to sit down so I can begin my class and  _ we  _ can get over to a better start this year than last year.” 

Louis Tomlinson. What an interesting character. 

He takes a seat next to one of his buddies (Harry thinks his name is Zack but has no clue because mentally he calls him cheekbones) and kicks his feet up. “All seated, Big T.” 

Mr. Trayger knocks his feet off as he passes and goes to tap the desk next to Harry. “Your is next to Mr….” he trails off, glancing at his attendance sheet, “Ah! Mr. Styles. I’ve heard good things from Ms. Brooks about you. I’m sure you’ll be a good influence on Mr. Tomlinson here.” 

Harry can feel the heat prickling at his cheeks. He wills it to go away as Louis stalks over to the seat, slumping into it with his legs spread wide. It’s clear he doesn’t care and Harry tells himself to stop finding that attractive. Because Louis is very attractive, but also definitely straight. He’s been down that rabbit hole before and it didn’t end all that well. 

There’s a good two minutes where Louis is silent, his fingers alternating between twirling his pencil around and tapping out a beat onto his thighs. It almost catches him off guard when that silence is interrupted by him striking up a conversation with Harry. “So Styles? Is that your actual last name?” 

He doesn’t know how to answer because  _ of course  _ it’s his real last name. Louis takes that opportunity to cut in with a joke. “It sounds like a porn star name.” 

Harry goes bright red again, trying to focus his attention on literally anything other than him.

“Not very talkative are you?” 

He regains his ability to speak long enough to squeak out a simple, “No, not really.” 

“Ah! He speaks!” 

Mr. Trayger hits the desk lightly with his clipboard as he passes. “Of course Harry speaks, but not when we’re about to start class. Stop bothering him will you?” 

Louis doesn’t verbally give an answer, just rolls his eyes. The next remark he makes to him is a soft whisper, almost as though he doesn’t want to be that disruptive. “Harry Styles… what are you a pop star? Porn star?” 

Harry doesn’t respond, but that does get a small laugh out of him. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Louis smirk like he’s  _ proud _ of himself for making Harry laugh. 

The rest of the class is less entertaining, Louis must decide to actually pay attention or he must just get bored of Harry giving non-responses and Mr. Trayger’s side eye. Before he knows it, the bell rings and he’s out of class and onto the next one. 

This year is certainly going to be an interesting one, no way around that. Harry’s got a bubble of excitement in his chest, it’s almost foreign to him but he likes the way it builds against his chest. The anticipation for when it pops and spreads a warm feeling from his chest to the tips of his fingers down to the tips of his toes. 

Harry has a feeling this will be his year. 


End file.
